Angel Baby

Living in the 60's

"Wake up Arielle! You're going to be late for the first day of school!"

My brother Dylan hollers at me.

"Arielle. Arielle!"

He says louder.

"Mmphf."

I moan tiredly.

"Go away."

I push him away from me with my hand.

"Okay..."

He starts.

"But you better get up. You never know what might happen in your day."

He leaves my room and shuts the door completely. Yes, now I have freedom. I shut my eyes happily and smile. I soon fall back asleep, but am soon awoken by the friction from fabric of a pillow case hitting my cheek!

"Dylan Everett Southerlin!"

I shriek as I jolt up.

"What the hell?!"

I continue putting my hand on my cheek. He snickers as I go out to examine my cheek in the mirror. "The friction gave me a burn! Do you not see that?!"

He leaves my room looking guilty. I curse under my breath. I look at my Paul McCartney poster and start to cry.

"I need you..."

I whisper.

"I bet you're the greatest man alive." 

I go to my closet and pick out my favorite beatles shirt and skirt. I open up my pin box and pick out my pin that says "Paul" on it and has a picture of him on it. I hope this year is a bit better than last year. No drama, air raid sirens or tornado watches, and mostly I hope Mr. Khone has retired.

Mr. Khone is the music/band teacher at my school. Even though I have an enormous love for music, I never really liked Mr. Khone. He would not let us work creativly or do anything by ourselves. We had to bring our own instruments because he didn't think he could handle his properly.

I tuck my beatles shirt into my skirt and begin to tie my shoes. I sigh, just being able to tell today, will not be one of my best days. That, I am sure of. I check my school bag to make sure I have everything. I carry my school bag and go examine my burn in the mirror. I sigh, look at my Paul poster again, thinking about how I'd never meet him, and if I did, he'd probably think I'm ugly. I wipe on last tear that falls from my eyes, and go upstairs to get my breakfast.

"I am going to put a lock on that door down there, Dylan. I swear."

He whips his head around violently and looks me in the eye. My older brother was never really serious. But when it came to locked doors, he is as alert as a man at war.

"Arielle, you wouldn't! You're old enough to remember that mom and dad said no locked doors! If you do, I will take anything you own that has to do with The Beatles, pour gasoline on it all, then set fire to it outside."

"That's not a threat."

I say calmly as I begin to eat the cearel he has placed in front of me.

"Why isn't it? Thought it would've been."

He asks me quizzically. I check the clock, wink at my brother and lean forward slightly.

"Because the door would be locked."

I whisper with a tone of mischief in my voice. He looks at me, and I can tell he is a bit puzzled.